Missing
by and that's all she wrote
Summary: "Missing was a label Dick could work with. Missing is something manageable, something he can work toward fixing." But last thing any of them expect is to find Artemis with the Shadows after being MIA for nearly three months." :: RobArt. Oneshot for Rush.


"You know, it's almost been nine months," he says, turning to face her with a smile. He pulls her closer.

Her boots crunch in the snow. Breath puffing in his face, she says: "Has it really?"

"Don't toy with me," he says, nudging her.

She chuckles. "Me? _Never_."

She disappeared before they hit that milestone.

* * *

For weeks, they search. The League gives up first, all but Ollie moving on to bigger things, the need to appease expectations met.

The team, of course, stays on the case the longest.

Wally gives up on trying to get Dick to sleep about three weeks in.

"You're not gonna quit are you?"

"Wasn't planning on it."

* * *

_Missing_ is a label that Dick can work with.

He can imagine that he'll stumble on a lead.

Or see her in the crowd.

He can dream about running to meet her, embracing her, kissing her, running his hands through her hair again.

_Missing_ is something manageable, something he can work toward fixing.

But when the team gets a mission sending them to a museum in Cairo, to nab Cheshire before she swipes another priceless artifact—

Well, the last thing _any_ of them are expecting is Artemis to be with her—_helping her_—after being MIA for nearly three months. When the hood falls away to reveal their _missing_ teammate, it's like a whip striking across their backs.

Dick's pretty sure _evil_ is something much harder to deal with than _missing_.

If people thought he was haggard before, the days after that mission easily prove that they spoke too soon.

* * *

"Batman to cave,"

"We're here, Batman," Kaldur answers.

"The League of Shadows is launching a full-frontal assault on several cities throughout the nation," Batman continues, images of chaos and destruction appearing on the screen to support him. "New York, Gotham, Central, Star City, and several others are struggling. Police communications have been knocked out due to jammed frequencies. The League needs your help responding to some of the threats."

"Tell us where we are needed and we shall go," Kaldur responds.

"Head to Keystone—Poison Ivy is causing a good deal of trouble there."

"Batman," Robin speaks up, frowning. "What's jamming the police signals? I thought we started lending them League tech to help prevent that—at _their_ insistence, no less."

"We did," Batman answers, his scowl darker now. "Someone apparently got around that.."

He doesn't have to say who—she's been missing from their ranks for three months now.

It's whose voice they miss telling them to get their "asses in the zeta tubes already!"

The person who Robin trusted with his life, his identity. Everything.

_Artemis_.

* * *

_Ready? Go!_

Robin is about to join them, grappling hook already out, when his wrist beeps.

He pulls up the alert on his computer, eyes going wide as he takes in the information. A few taps, a click there, and he's already heading back to the zeta tube.

Ivy can wait—especially when Artemis is sneaking around the Hall of Justice.

_Rob?_

He ignores the sound of his teammates calling for him, cutting the link. They can handle the situation without him. He'll deal with the repercussions later.

* * *

The symbol of the League's influence on Earth is the last place Dick would think to look for her—especially because Batman wiped her from the system the day she dropped off-grid.

And yet, the video evidence is right in front of his face.

Unable to put it off any longer, he steps forward, allowing the computer to recognize and admit him into the building. There's no chance of stealthy entry thanks to the announcement, but it doesn't really matter; he isn't hiding.

"I know you're here, Artemis," he calls out. "Can we just talk?"

"Please," comes the reply. He steps into the library and sees her, standing there—waiting. "As if that's all you want."

_Whatever she was doing with the Shadows_, he thinks to himself, _it doesn't suit her._

And that's nearly an understatement. With her hood down, he can see everything: her drawn face, the defined features standing out in painful relief. Dark bruises under her eyes are evident even on her dark skin, but even that seems a shade lighter. Her hair is dull and limp, a far cry from the usual plume of gold. Her new costume is dark, with black fabric used for everything—from the tunic to her pants and gloves. Everything about her is pulled as tight as her bowstring.

Something in his chest cries out for her, but his brain reminds him: _she's the enemy right now. You can't afford to see her as anything else._

So he restrains the sigh creeping up his throat and straightens up. "If you're willing to, yes—all I want is a conversation."

Artemis shakes her head. "No—I don't believe you."

"Nine months—nine months of being together, of trusting you with everything, _on top_ of being teammates for nearly three years?" he asks. "And you don't believe me?"

"Everything's different," she spits back. "None of that matters." A smile, twisted and cruel, creeps across her face. "What is it you said to me that first day at Gotham Academy? 'We'll laugh about this someday'?" Artemis threw back her head and laughed. It was a tired, mocking exhale, making Dick flinch away. Her eyes flashed like light glinting off ice as her arm jerked her bowstring taut against her cheek. In a deadly subdued tone, she continued: "Well who's laughing _now_?"

"Artemis, don't—"

"Why not, _Dick_?"

He cringes. As if he needs to be reminded of that mistake, of letting her in. The mistake of letting her grow too close, getting too comfortable.

"Artemis," he begins, slowly inching toward her. Immediately, though, she takes a step back, even as she draws the bow tighter—Dick almost worried the string would snap. "Artemis," he begins again. "You kill me, you ruin any chance of redemption."

He hates playing this card—the 'I'm worth more than you' one—but he has no choice.

At least, not if he wants to get both of them out alive and—in Artemis' case—in a position still worth redeeming.

"You kill me," he starts, "there's no going back. There are too many people that would rather avenge me than help you if you release that arrow. They'd sooner kill you than help you if you changed your mind—_again_. You know it and I know it, so don't put yourself in that position. Don't cross that line."

"And what if I don't want to go back?" she exclaims. "What then, Dick? What do I do if I don't know where I belong, whether I'm supposed to be a hero or a villain?"

"Don't you get it?" he shoots back. "There is no _fate—only _your choices, _your_ decisions." He shakes his head, almost laughing, but the smile is anything but pleased. "Right now, your decisions are leading you to a damn terrible place. But like I said, Artemis: your choice, your decision. Not mine, not the League's, and definitely not your father's."

She laughs again—that same, horrible laugh.

_There's something else—something she isn't saying_.

No sooner does the realization hit him that she speaks, lowering her bow as she does. "You keep telling me it's my choice," she said. "And maybe it was in the beginning, when they threatened to come after you. I should have known you could take care of yourself then, while I still had some free will left. But all that's gone now—any chance I had early on is gone."

"We can help you get out, Artemis," Dick says, almost pleading. "You just have to let us."

"No," she says, shaking her head. "No, you can't help. Not now. It's too late."

"No, it—"

Now she does throw her bow to the ground, the clatter echoing through the hall. "Stop and _listen_, Dick! For once, just—just _stop_."

Before he can respond, she yanks her tunic over her head.

What was underneath makes Dick's eyes widen.

Wires, packs of explosives, tape and electrical interfaces—

_She's a walking time bomb_.

"They did this to you?" he asks.

She laughs again, and he still has to fight off the urge to flinch. "Who else would strap me up to this much firepower? I'm not here to steal anything—I'm here to send a message."

_You lost, Justice League, in more ways than one_.

"The attacks are a distraction, aren't they?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

"And I'm the sleeper cell," she confirms, crossing her arms and looking away.

Dick doesn't respond to that, instead moving forward, his hands already reaching for tools in his belt.

"No!" she exclaims, taking a step back. "They'll blow us both up in a second if you try—"

"Trust me when I say they can't do anything as long as you're standing in here," he says, continuing forward until he stands just in front of her, hands raised in a gesture of reassurance.

"How can you know that?" she asks, still poised to move away.

Dick hesitates for a moment, then reaches for the comm he knows is in her ear. "See this?" he asks, holding it in front of her. "It's useless to them right now. The Hall has a signal blocker that prevents any foreign frequencies from coming in or out. That includes your comm, any video equipment they may have attached to you, and the bomb. We're both safe."

"And if I told you I gave them the Hall's signal too?" she asks.

"I wouldn't believe you," Robin answers. "But even if you did, it wouldn't matter—it changes every week. You're safe. We both are."

She shakes her head, eyes still dark with strain. "You think they didn't plan for something like that?"

It only takes him an instant to understand what she's saying.

"There's an internal timer." It's not a question.

She nods. "And I doubt there's much time left. Enough to let your backup get here—that's by design, I'm sure."

Dick feels his resolve solidify. "I'm not going to let you die," he mutters, beginning to pull tools from his belt.

She stares for a minute, then starts to ask: "Dick, do you really know what you're doing—"

He's not in the mood for doubt, though. "People in Gotham are crazy, Artemis—you know that as well as I do. Possibly more, since you're the one that grew up there. Bomb threats are hardly something I'm unfamiliar with."

"Batman has you diffuse bombs?" she asks, only slightly incredulously.

"The crazies tend to put them in small places," he answers, already tinkering with the screws holding a faceplate up. "And I told Batman that my life wasn't worth as much as a group of civilians. He agreed—eventually."

"Still—"

"Look, Artemis," he says, not looking up at her while continuing to work, "if I don't try, we both go up. If I do, we have a shot at this."

"You could leave me here," she murmured. "Make sure you get out and that everyone knows to give this place a wide berth."

His hands stilled as he let himself descend into his mind for just a moment. Then, being sure to time himself, he straightened just enough to take her lips with his.

"No," he says upon parting.

_At least she stopped fidgeting_, he thinks to himself, returning to his work. "Hold this," he mutters, shoving the screwdriver into her hand and pulling out a pair of pliers.

"And you're sure about this?"

"I'm pretty sure we just discussed this," he grit out.

_Robin? Why is_ _the Hall on lockdown—_

_Not now, M'gann_.

_Rob, what—_

_Guys, seriously: _not now.

_Can we help?_

_You can help by _shutting up right now_._

"The team is here aren't they?" she asks. "I can see it in your face."

He didn't answer for a moment, still trying to pick apart the wires and make sense of them.

"Yeah."

"You don't have much time then," she muttered.

He's actively fighting off exasperation right now—between her and the bomb, which is far more complicated than he anticipated, things aren't going all too well. "What is it you want me to do, Artemis?"

"Tell them to leave, and make sure you go with them—after you accept my goddamned apology."

"I already told you I'm not doing that, so shut up and let me fix this. And what apology are you even referring too, because I certainly don't remember one."

"God, why do you always have to fix _everything_?"

The sheer ridiculousness of the situation—this conversation—is not lost on him. Were it any other set of circumstances, he would take the time to let it wash over him—let himself savor the irony of it all.

But he doesn't have that luxury—not right now, when both of their lives are in his hands. "Artemis, unless you both want us to be reduced to ash, I suggest we leave this conversation for later, when our fates don't rest in my hands while I perform a very dangerous procedure with the completely _wrong_ equipment."

"And if we are blown to ash?" she asks. "Then we'll never have this conversation. So, better now than later, because at this rate 'later' looks highly suspect right now."

"If I have to kiss you again to make you stop talking, I will," he warns.

"For a kid that's been doing this hero stuff for six years, you're not very good at blackmailing."

"You know what, Artemis?" he asks, finally meeting her eyes. "You want to be like this? You want to be abrupt and obnoxious and difficult and contrary on top of that?"

Now she smirks. "Would you have had me any other way?"

"So what you're telling me is that you don't give a damn what I do with this bomb."

"Well, I wouldn't—"

But he's already cutting one wire—then another.

Silence stretches as both wait with bated breath.

Finally, Artemis asks, tentatively: "That's it, then?"

He exhales for the first time in several seconds. "That's it," he answers, standing up straight to meet her eyes. "Except for the ten pounds of explosives strapped to your torso."

Artemis nods, pulling a knife from the holster on her thigh. "Have at it."

Rolling his eyes, he takes the blade and begins working away at the duct tape, careful to avoid cutting Artemis. Occasionally, he has to pause to tug the parts away, some kind of glue holding them there.

"They really didn't hold back," he comments.

"Not at all," she says. "I guess they wanted to make sure I didn't jostle it and detonate it too soon."

"Why not try to detonate while they were still in range, then?" he asks.

From the second the question leaves his lips, he regrets asking.

But Artemis surprises him with a laugh—something similar to the twisted chuckle she used earlier, but less menacing. "Is it wrong to say that it was due to a simple desire to prolong my own life?"

For a moment, he doesn't answer, instead continuing to saw through the tape. Then: "No, it isn't."

He felt her shift, and looked up to see her staring down at him. "You mean that?"

He nods. "The desire of wanting to live isn't hard to understand." His fingers flex around the knife. "And I like to think you did it for another reason as well."

"And why's that?"

"That you believed someone could—_would_—help you here."

As he speaks, he cut through the last of the tape. She grabs one side of the ring of explosives, he the other, and together they pull it away from her body, until the entire thing is in Dick's arms.

The two stare at each other, the levity of what he's holding sinking in.

_Uh, guys? _Robin asks, reestablishing the link. _We might need your help now._

* * *

Later, there are a lot of questions and plenty of suspicion.

But despite the incredulous and skeptical looks, and all those askance glances thrown in their direction, Robin doesn't let go of her hand for anything.

* * *

_AN: I hate that the information surrounding the bomb is terribly inaccurate-I was trying to do some research but the actual process of dismantling a bomb apparently isn't widely published. ._._

_I hope you enjoyed, regardless. And this might be one of those oneshots that I rework into a multi-chapter... but we'll see (so don't put this on your alerts)._


End file.
